Thirty-Six
by Sephulbadis
Summary: If Snake can't sleep, -nobody- will. All done! R&R at your leisure.
1. Groceries

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Snake, Raiden, or Otacon. They are owned by Hideo Kojima who is in turn owned by Konami, which for its part is in all probablility owned by crafty extraterrestrials. I don't own a pizza right now either, and don't I wish I did.  
  
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It was dark like the inside of a person is dark.  
  
The only light available came from the dim red LED in the corner, and that wasn't much. It showed Snake where it was, and refused to provide any other helpful information, much less illumination. He took a deep breath of the warm, faintly stale air, and paused for a moment of introspection.  
  
Why was he here? Was he really accomplishing anything?  
  
The LED blinked from 1:37 to 1:38.  
  
Was this just another futile struggle against impersonal forces he'd never understand fully? He rather suspected it was. It wasn't the first—and unless something went very, very wrong in the next few hours, it wasn't going to be his last.  
  
1:38 turned into 1:39.  
  
"Hell with it," he said aloud, and rolled out of bed.  
  
He couldn't sleep. He couldn't. It was as simple as that. He'd been trying to doze off since 12:30, but his body was having none of it. According to his mere physical self, he should be out doing something productive, like knocking down trees or beheading lynx. And this wasn't the first night of it, either. He'd managed three hours the night before, and it had felt like trying to arm-wrestle himself.  
  
He ran down a quick mental checklist for the six-hundredth time. No, he hadn't had any coffee. No, there was nothing—well, nothing out of the ordinary—weighing on his mind. No, he hadn't left the stove on.  
  
There was nothing for it, he decided, but to get out there and find a lynx. He pulled on jeans and a shirt and spent ten engrossing minutes trying to find his boots in the pile of laundry at the foot of the bed before he realized they were out in the living room next to the couch. His jacket was tossed over its arm, right where he'd left it. Where to go, now? Hell, what was –open-? There was at least one movie theater, but there was nothing good out that he hadn't seen already. There was the all-night copy shop, which sounded moderately promising--on the other hand, could he keep himself amused for a few hours around that much technical equipment without rendering something expensive completely inoperable? Probably not. Long- standing habit. His options were narrow indeed. Only one place to go, really.  
  
Thirty minutes later, the Snakemobile safely parked outside, Snake perused the frozen novelties. There were moments in everyone's life, he reasoned, even eugencially engineered bloody-handed mercenaries like himself, when an ice cream bar seemed like a really good idea.  
  
That done, Snake set to wandering. Bananas were cheap, he noted. Three pounds for a buck. He managed to scrape a full fifteen minutes' diversion out of tailing the guy restocking produce—he'd finish one vegetable, go into the back room, refill a wheeled cart with boxes of the next vegetable, and come back out. Repeat. It wasn't much of a challenge, not even when the produce guy took a smoke break and Snake switched the cabbages for iceberg lettuce. It was something to do.  
  
It was times like this, he thought, forsaking produce for the baking aisle, that he envied Otacon. Otacon was a true professional when it came to insomnia—it took actual visual hallucinations to slow the man down. Maybe he just had more practice. As far as Snake had been able to observe, Otacon was nocturnal, diurnal, -and- crepuscular.  
  
Hm. What was the difference between 'real vanilla' and 'vanilla extract', again? And why did pepper come in so many colors? Pepper was just supposed to be pepper-colored, wasn't it?  
  
It was a few minutes later, when Snake caught himself singing along to "Ring of Fire" over the store's Muzak, that he realized he had to leave. If he didn't, he was going to end up baking muffins.  
  
He couldn't let that happen. Rose would laugh. Otacon would find out, and mention it in passing to Raiden, who'd tell –her-, and next time he saw her she'd have that look on her face. The –girl- look. The one women gave other women just before they went off in groups and started giggling. She'd probably pat him on the back and coo at him. The prospect alone set his back teeth to grinding. Yes indeed, it was time to go.  
  
His watch said two forty-one. There was a good chance Otacon would still be up, come to think of it. He'd probably find him hopped up on FreeCell again. That settled it. He'd go see Otacon and save him from his computer. Either he'd get some expert advice, or he'd be able to borrow something really tedious with subtitles.  
  
On his way out, it was all Snake could do not to pick up a lemon cake mix. "Thirty-six hours," he reminded himself. "Auditory hallucinations and disorientation start at thirty-six hours. No worries. No baking." Deep breath. Get in car. One thing at a time, Snake.  
  
…had he just said "No worries?"  
  
  
  
  
  
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More chapters to come as soon as I can crank them out. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Anime

DISCLAIMER: No, still don't own anything related to Konami or the Metal Gear series. I am exploiting their ignorance of my existence for personal aggrandizement and the accumulation of truly gratuitous wealth. Thanks for asking.  
  
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Up on the third floor, there were two lights on. One, the last apartment on the right, was Otacon's. No surprise there. Intermittent flashes of bluish light suggested that he either had the TV on or had taken up late-night arc welding.  
  
The other light on was the third from the left. She—and the occupant was most definitely a she—usually seemed to be up and about when Snake came this way. On two separate occasions he'd seen her close the vertical blinds on her sliding door wearing a sports bra and tennis shoes and nothing else. It was an enduring, if trivial, mystery—was she part of an erotic jogging club or something? Was there some obscure moth infesting her apartment that only ate women's underwear? It wasn't exactly ley lines or the Loch Ness Monster, but it made Snake wonder. Maybe Otacon knew her. He'd have to ask.  
  
He craned his neck. No sign of her this time. Couldn't win 'em all.  
  
He wasn't even sure why Otacon bothered to lock his front door, either, but he did. Probably because Snake usually came in the window. He didn't really feel like it tonight, but he didn't have a key and it was either the window or the balcony, which was was Raiden's preferred avenue of entry. It wouldn't be fair to confuse Otacon by tampering with the pattern. With one leg over the railing meant to keep the average citizen from doing precisely what Snake intended to do—to wit, inch along a narrow strip of concrete molding for a few feet until he could get a handhold on a window into the spare bedroom—he paused. Suddenly it was blindingly obvious why Otacon locked his front door. He was the only one who ever used the damn thing, and –he- had a key.  
  
"You can lead a bad-assed freak to a normal urban life," Snake thought, "but you can't make him like it."  
  
And then he hauled himself over the windowsill and inside. He closed the window softly behind him. Everything was more or less as he'd left it last time he'd crashed here, which was to say his box was still in the corner and Otacon hadn't bothered to fold the futon-thing back up. And there was his bandana! He'd been worried.  
  
"C'mere, you," he chided the thing, and scooped it up. "Been out seeing the world again? Looking for lady bandanas?"  
  
…God. Snake smacked a hand to his face.  
  
Thirty-six hours. -THIRTY-SIX HOURS-, damn it. It hadn't even been twenty- four yet, and here he was talking to inanimate objects. How did Otacon manage?  
  
Well, he'd find out in a few seconds. Out the door and down the hall he went, toward the blue flicker and the sound of a girl saying something wistful in subtitles.  
  
"Olewa something." Long pause. Water dripping. "Watashi something something something." The sound was down too low for him to really make anything out.  
  
His Japanese was still passable, if rusty, which was something he'd never had the heart to tell Otacon. Otacon knew "hebi', of course, and Snake heard it plenty often. The translation engine he used on mission-related documents was a good one, but the quick one for when he wanted to say 'the snake is smoking again, he must be on fire' was probably staffed by people who spent most of the day snickering. What he probably –thought- meant 'the otaku rides again'…well, it didn't. At the core of his being, Otacon was still baka gaijin. It suited him.  
  
Ah. Miyu. He recognized her, now that he could see the screen. She was the one with the meatball on the side of her head. She looked sad.  
  
"Hey, Otacon," he said. No answer. He leaned further into the living room. "You there? S'me."  
  
…Well, this was new. Otacon was home, sure enough. He was sprawled across most of the sofa like a loose collection of sticks and laundry. And, wonder of wonders, he was –sleeping-. This was the kind of thing people made nature shows about.  
  
Nature shows, horror movies, and chick flicks, Snake amended. In a few seconds he'd have to get a radio collar around Otacon's neck, stab him repeatedly with a kitchen knife, or toss an afghan over him, depending on which was actually going on.  
  
He waited. Nothing happened, except for a muffled snort from Otacon and Miyu getting wistful again. Oh, well.  
  
What the hell to do –now-? He couldn't just walk off with Otacon's stuff. Well, actually, he could. It just wouldn't feel –right-, though, not after this incredibly touching moment. Why, Otacon even had his glasses on. And a tiny ribbon of drool out of the corner of his mouth. Hell.  
  
No, he'd leave Otacon's anime where it was.  
  
There was still a lingering problem, however—he either needed to bore himself to sleep somehow or find a source of amusement until he hit sixty hours and started seeing things. And –that- was going to be a while.  
  
…didn't Rose have a bunch of romance novels lying around?  
  
She did, he was sure of it. The kind with women in disheveled petticoats on the covers. There was always at least one, usually a small pile of them, and Snake had noticed that if you held one flat you could find the good parts by where it opened. Those would do the trick. Of course, asking to borrow one—hell, it might take several—would be even harder to live down than the muffins. He'd have to go get them himself. Right now, even, to avoid any chance of her getting up early. It was three-twenty already.  
  
On his way out he flicked off the overhead light. There was a snuffle from the sofa. Miyu, now the only source of light in the room, gazed off into the distance. At least Otacon wouldn't be lonely.  
  
  
  
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Next chapter: yet more unlawful entry and irresponsible goings-on! Coming soon. Now that you've wasted your time reading this little piece of burnin' love, go do something productive. 


	3. Flowers

Christ. Three-forty. Rose did the meteorology reports for one of the local news stations, and that meant those obnoxious birds that started chirping three hours –before- the sun came up had nothing on her. Snake knew he'd have to make this quick.  
  
Something in him told him this was a very, very bad idea. More trouble than it was worth, certainly, and asking for the proverbial 'it' with a hand held out. He was going to mess some crucial detail up, and the consequences would be terrible and far-reaching indeed. The feeling wasn't exactly unfamiliar to Snake—basic jitters, really—but why was it there in the first place? Hell, he knew where everything was. He knew when Rose got up, which was getting increasingly soon. He knew what was in the damned refrigerator.  
  
Some of it was the prospect of explaining an armload of bodice-rippers. That was daunting enough. The rest, well…it –was- just a little embarassing. Old habits, and all. But Otacon would understand, wouldn't he? The last thing Snake needed to be right now was more tense.  
  
BREEP BREEP  
  
"…hrm?" The CODEC transmitted an indistinct snort. Otacon's daemon looked perky enough, but then it always did. It –sounded- like somebody who'd just been hauled by a cruel and arbitrary world out of some really satisfactory REM time. "wuzza…huh?"  
  
"Sorry," lied Snake. "Had an itch."  
  
"W'sec…'ng on…"  
  
"Go back to sleep. Everything's fine."  
  
"…'kay…"  
  
Right. He felt –much- better, now. Time to get this over with.  
  
Raiden and Rose's apartment was two floors up, not three, which was fortunate considering it didn't –have- a spare bedroom window. It didn't have a spare bedroom. It did have a balcony. A narrow one, barely wide enough to get both feet on, and almost entirely taken up by terra-cotta pots, but it would certainly do. A key to the front door would be under the second pot on the left if the sliding door itself wasn't unlocked. It usually was. Snake knew these things--he and Otacon had on a couple of different occasions been briefly entertained by Raiden locking himself out. The kid had a real thing for dangling from high places. Who knew why?  
  
Snake was a little less fond of hanging from things. It wasn't going to stop him, of course. He trudged down into the plot of grass and paving stones that passed for a courtyard in the middle of the U-shaped complex, and looked up. Sure enough, everything dark. He was in the clear. The ground floor apartment had its flat rectangle of cement directly on the ground—no railing, not even any big potted plants to stand on. There –was- a good-sized rhododendron to one side, however. Some of the interior branches looked thick enough to support him, if he stepped lightly. He'd only need a few feet up, anyway.  
  
"Neither wind, nor rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night," he reassured himself, "nor having to climb a goddamned flower, will stay the Snake from his appointed rounds." He pushed the outer leaves aside. Nice thick wood in there. A bit of rustling and a mildly worrisome crack, and he could wrap one hand securely around the bottom of the railing. Success!  
  
He swung up. Still had it, even if –he- didn't insist on doing that flip- thing every chance he got.  
  
Life was good—the sliding door was unlocked. The top half looked to be steamed-up. Snake checked his watch again. No time like the present, even if the present gave him about ten minutes to get in and out. How hard could it possibly be to find of few of the sleazier-looking ones and make tracks? He padded inside.  
  
The layout was nothing special—the balcony opened onto a sort-of-den on the end of a hall that ran pretty much straight into the living room a few yards down. A bedroom and a bathroom had doors into the hall. So far, so good. Nobody'd done any illicit remodeling since he'd been here last. There was a wet hiss from the bathroom and the air smelled thickly of girl's shampoo—like a wierd combination of tropical foliage and artificial sweetener. The word 'freesia' was probably on the bottle somewhere. It usually was. So Rose was up already. No big thing. He'd be gone before she had time to rinse.  
  
She started singing. Snake shivered. For some reason the whole soprano register made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.  
  
Down the hall. Pay no attention whatsoever to the racket in the background, especially now that it had resolved into a rendition of "I'm Like A Bird". Agh.  
  
Right. Last time he'd actually been in here—and it had been a month or two—there had been a stack on the coffee table. There still was. The sodium- vapor light through the window was enough to show him the top cover was a pastel purple and had a truly suggestive-looking lily on it. Personally he didn't find protruding stamens sexy, but who was he to complain about somebody else's kinks? He tucked the top one under an arm. More of the same underneath, with a tulip. Where the hell did the publishers get these photos? Was there an agency somewhere that specialized in making perfectly normal blooming plants look like genitalia? Snake considered a moment. Technically, flowers –were- genitalia. However, and this was an important distinction, they were not –human- genitalia, and that tulip looked like it should have pubic hair somewhere. Maybe on the back cover?  
  
"Ahem."  
  
…oh, hell.  
  
"Snake, what are you doing in here?"  
  
Hell and damn.  
  
With as much dignity as he could possibly wring from the moment, he set the tulip down. The lily was still under his arm. Couldn't drop it now, too conspicuous—he'd just have to count on his jacket concealing it somewhat, and hope for the best. He turned.  
  
At least it wasn't Rose.  
  
"Morning," Snake grumbled. "You're up early."  
  
Raiden's head and one shoulder poked into the living room. He looked mildly dazed. A small haystack seemed to have landed on his head. At least he'd taken the time to put some clothes on. Did he wear –anything- that wasn't blue and black?  
  
"At least I'm up early in my own apartment," he said. "What's going on?"  
  
Snake's brain had been spinning its wheels for a while now, and he –still- hadn't come up with an explanation for rummaging around in Rose's girl-porn at four in the morning that didn't sound painfully pathetic. If he'd been at the top of his game he'd be back outside by now and none the wiser. If he'd been at the top of his game, for that matter, he wouldn't need to be here in the first place.  
  
So he didn't say anything. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut. It had worked before. He put on his best surly look. Several increasingly awkward seconds passed.  
  
"Let me guess," Raiden sighed, rubbing at an eye. "It's that time of the month, isn't it?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Otacon said if you don't infiltrate something twice a month you get a rash. I don't really –mind-, but…"  
  
"It's not like –that-." Snake made a mental note to leave Otacon's window open a few times this winter.  
  
Raiden made a 'go on' gesture. Damn the kid.  
  
"…couldn't sleep," Snake admitted finally. The surly look climbed of its own accord back onto his face.  
  
"Oh," said Raiden. "That all?" He seemed pleased, somehow.  
  
"…yeah," said Snake. At least Raiden hadn't noticed the book yet. With luck he'd get out of here with nothing worse than a bruise to his pride, and a nap and some smokes would fix that right up.  
  
"Happens to everybody," said Raiden. He was positively –cheerful-.  
  
"I'll be going," said Snake, orienting on the door. Four steps and he'd be gone. The shower had stopped. Speed was called for. He tossed a wave back over his shoulder.  
  
"Right," said Raiden. "One thing, though."  
  
If he'd been at the top of his game, Snake reasoned, he'd have seen it coming. Never turn your back on someone whose hands you can't see. Never underestimate the potential of someone you've worked with to screw you over. Never forget—and this was important--that Raiden kept his M9 in the bedroom. For some reason.  
  
"Bed time, Snake," said the insufferably smug voice behind him. The sting at the back of his neck was almost humorously anticlimactic.  
  
…god. He just hoped he'd wake up with his clothes on.  
  
  
  
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Rose emerged pink and scrubbed from the bathroom, wrapped in enough green terrycloth yardage to pitch a decent-sized tent. "Jack?"  
  
"Out here." From the living room, Raiden stifled a yawn.  
  
"What's going on? I heard voices!"  
  
"Just Snake. Don't worry."  
  
"Oh. Hi, Sna-eeek! Jack! What –happened-?"  
  
Raiden prodded at Snake's recumbent ribs with a toe. "He's all right." Damn, but he'd wanted to do that for –months-.  
  
Rose shook her head, and scrubbed water out of her hair. "Well, I have to get going in just a few minutes," she said. "I'm sure you'll be able to take care of –whatever- is going on here, exactly." She retreated into the bedroom. No, she wasn't going to ask. With the three of them, most of the time it really was better not to. At least Jack was home –most- nights.  
  
Out in the living room, Raiden pondered. This was going to be a little tricky. Sure, he'd managed to cross off one of the items on his 'Things To Do Before You Die' list, but now he'd have to drag the old bastard out to the car.  
  
  
  
…oh, well. It was worth it. Where the hell were his boots?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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Just to ease your mind: Snake –does- wake up with his clothes on. I'm just not going to bother writing about it, that's all. Sorry, yaoi fans. Thanks for reading! 


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